An' there will be wealthy young Richard,
Dame Fortune should hing by the neck;
For prodigal, thriftless bestowing,
His merit had won him respect:
An' there will be rich brother nabobs,
Though nabobs, yet men of the first;
An' there will be Collieston's whiskers,
An' Quintin, o' lads not the worst.
An' there will be stamp-office Johnie,
Tak tent how ye purchase a dram;
An' there will be gay Cassencarrie,
An' there will be gleg Colonel Tam;
An' there will be trusty Kerroughtree,
Whose honor was ever his law,
If the virtues were pack'd in a parcel,
His worth might be sample for a'.
An' can we forget the auld major,
Wha'll ne'er be forgot in the Greys?
Our flattery we 'll keep for some other,
Him only 'tis justice to praise.
An' there will be maiden Kilkerran,
And also Barskimming's gude knight;
An' there will be roarin' Birtwhistle,
Wha luckily roars in the right.
An' there, frae the Niddisdale's borders,
Will mingle the Maxwells in droves;
Teugh Johnie, stanch Geordie, an' Walie,
That griens for the fishes an' loaves;
An' there will be Logan MacDouall,
Sculdudd'ry an' he will be there,
An' also the wild Scot o' Galloway,
Sodgerin', gunpowder Blair.
Then hey the chaste interest o' Broughton,
An' hey for the blessings 'twill bring!
It may send Balmaghie to the Commons,
In Sodom 'twould make him a king;
An' hey for the sanctified M-
Our land who wi' chapels has stored; He founder'd his horse among harlots, But gied the auld naig to the Lord.
[BALLAD THIRD.]
TUNE-Buy broom besoms.
WHA will buy my troggin,
Fine election ware;
Broken trade o' Broughton,
A' in high repair.
Buy braw troggin,
Frae the banks o' Dee;
Wha wants troggin
Let him come to me.
There's a noble Earl's
Fame and high renown,
For an auld song
It's thought the gudes were stown.
Buy braw troggin, &c.
Here's the worth o' Broughton
In a needle's ee;
Here's a reputation
Tint by Balmaghie.
Buy braw troggin, &c.
Here's an honest conscience
Might a prince adorn;
Frae the downs o' Tinwald
So was never worn.
Buy braw troggin, &c.
Here's its stuff and lining,
Cardoness's head;
Fine for a sodger
A' the wale o' lead.
Buy braw troggin, &c.
Here's a little wadset
Buittle's scrap o' truth,
Pawn'd in a gin shop
Quenching holy drouth.
Buy braw troggin, &c.
Here's armorial bearings
Frae the manse o' Urr;
The crest, an auld crab-apple
Rotten at the core.
Buy braw troggin, &c.
Here is Satan's picture,
Like a bizzard gled,
Pouncing poor Redcastle
Sprawlin' as a taed.
Buy braw troggin, &c.
Here's the worth and wisdom
Collieston can boast;
By a thievish midge
They had been nearly lost.
Buy braw troggin, &c.
Here is Murray's fragments
O' the ten commands;
Gifted by black Jock
To get them aff his hands.
Buy braw troggin, &c.
Saw ye e'er sic troggin ?
If to buy ye 're slack,
Hornie's turnin' chapman,-
He'll buy a' the pack.
Buy braw troggin, &c.
HUMID seal of soft affections,
Tenderest pledge of future bliss,
Dearest tie of young connections,
Love's first snow-drop, virgin kiss!
Speaking silence, dumb confession,
Passion's birth, and infant's play,
Dove-like fondness, chaste concession,
Glowing dawn of brighter day.
Sorrowing joy, adieu's last action,
When lingering lips no more must join, What words can ever speak affection So thrilling and sincere as thine!
VERSES WRITTEN UNDER VIOLENT GRIEF.
These lines were written in 1786, when the Poet's circumstances were so embarrassed, that he had determined to emigrate to Jamaica as a means of improving them.
ACCEPT the gift a friend sincere
Wad on thy worth be pressin';
Remembrance oft may start a tear,
But oh! that tenderness forbear,
Though 'twad my sorrows lessen.
My morning raise sae clear and fair,
I thought sair storms wad never
Bedew the scene; but grief and care
In wildest fury hae made bare
My peace, my hope, forever!
You think I'm glad; oh, I pay weel
For a' the joy I borrow,
In solitude-then, then I feel
I canna to mysel' conceal
My deeply ranklin' sorrow.
Farewell! within thy bosom free
A sigh may whiles awaken;
A tear may wet thy laughin' ee,
For Scotia's son-ance gay like thee-
Now hopeless, comfortless, forsaken!
Written on a marble sideboard, in the hermitage belonging to the Duke of
Athole, in the wood of Aberfeldy.
WHOE'ER thou art, these lines now reading,
Think not, though from the world receding,
I joy my lonely days to lead in
That fell remorse a conscience bleeding
Hath led me here.
No thought of guilt my bosom sours;
Free-will'd I fled from courtly bowers;
For well I saw in halls and towers
That lust and pride,
The arch-fiend's dearest, darkest powers,
In state preside.
I saw mankind with vice incrusted;
I saw that honor's sword was rusted;
That few for aught but folly lusted;
That he was still deceived who trusted
To love or friend;
And hither came, with men disgusted,
My life to end.
In this lone cave, in garments lowly,
Alike a foe to noisy folly,
And brow-bent gloomy melancholy,
I wear away
My life, and in my office holy
Consume the day.
This rock my shield, when storms are blowing,
The limpid streamlet yonder flowing
Supplying drink, the earth bestowing
My simple food;
But few enjoy the calm I know in
This desert wood.
Content and comfort bless me more in
This grot, than e'er I felt before in
A palace-and with thoughts still soaring
To God on high,
Each night and morn, with voice imploring,
This wish I sigh:-
"Let me, O Lord! from life retire,
Unknown each guilty worldly fire,
Remorse's throb, or loose desire;
And when I die,
Let me in this belief expire-
To God I fly."
Stranger, if full of youth and riot,
And yet no grief has marr'd thy quiet,
Thou haply throw'st a scornful eye at
The hermit's prayer-
But if thou hast good cause to sigh at
Thy fault or care:
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